in any version of reality
by owedbetter
Summary: "I'd know you anywhere," she said. "Now, come on… tell me everything." [thirteenclara.]


" _I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you._ "

Kiersten White, Chaos of Stars

The fact that it felt familiar should have been the first clue that something was wrong.

Still, they'd been through enough and they had _seen_ enough in their travels with the Doctor that seeing a diner in the middle of nowhere and who-only-knows-when did not exactly ring any alarms at first.

To Yaz, it even seemed like it was calling her in. There was something about it that invited her in, almost; a pull that she could not explain. She'd cajoled the other two into joining her in her inspection of the diner. After all, did she really travel with the Doctor if she did not pursue every curiosity? And perhaps, Graham stating that he hadn't even realised it was _there_ at first should have been another hint.

A soft tintinnabulation came from the bell as the door swung open. Wide eyed did the trio glance about the room and there was very little that was out of the ordinary for them apart from the back that there was not another soul to be seen. Thousands of miles away from home, in a time that was not their own—this was alien to note. The chairs were suited in bright red, eye-catching leather and the soft buzz from the neon signs that hung about were the only noise that greeted them after the bell quieted. The team so then treaded lightly upon the grounds, having been in enough traps to know when they might be walking into one _again_.

"Looks deserted to me," said Ryan, eyes up and footsteps slow.

"Nah. No dust," said Yaz, dragging a finger along the smooth leather of the nearest sofa she could find. "Not been looted or anything either. Someone's been here."

"Alright, Sherlock. Where's the staff, then? Doesn't even smell like anything's been cooking," Ryan argued.

"Fair point." Yaz shrugged.

"Well, I certainly _hope_ someone's home. I'm starving," Graham quipped, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. He settled himself on top of the bar stools.

It was then that the door that displayed a painted portrait of Elvis Presley, marked 'RESTROOM' in capital letters, burst open and let forth a worrying amount of smoke—and a small woman brandishing a plunger in her hand. Her overalls were covered in a bright purple muck and so were the wedges on her feet. She did not cough from the smoke, which Yaz thought strange but thought nothing of as the small brunette woman did look to them with surprise.

"Oh!" she'd exclaimed, her kind eyes wide and her smile inviting. "Hello. Didn't hear the bell ding from all the… stuff. Hiya."

"Must've been one hell of a clog," Graham joked.

"Nah, just a bit of an argument," she said, scrunching her nose.

"We're sorry to just barge in," Yaz tried.

"No worries. The sign says we're open, doesn't it?" the woman said. "Back in a tick. Make yourselves comfy."

She went back into the bathroom and, in a flash, the smoke that came into the diner sucked itself back into the door.

"That was cool," said Ryan. "Got a feeling that's probably not really a loo, though."

" _Told_ you there was someone," said Yaz, who was settling herself into one of the booths. Ryan followed and sat next to her while Graham was happy to be on the stool, his feet dangling from the ground.

"Yeah, still weird though," said Ryan.

"Weirder than anything else we've seen?" Yaz asked.

"Fair point."

"More to that, what's a 50s style American diner even _doing_ in—where did the Doc say we are, again?"

"2 miles south of the nearest market in the 47th century," Yaz answered. " _On_ the moon."

"Oh," said Graham, nodding his head. Thoughtful but still wild with disbelief. There was no getting used to that sort of talk. "Oh, right. We colonised the moon. That happened."

Not more than a minute had passed when the woman in the bathroom came bursting out from the door again. Ryan tried to get a better look at what was behind the door but she'd opened it just so that she had enough room to come through, offering not much space for him to see into.

Yaz, on the other hand, was far too distracted by the fact that this woman seemed to have gotten refreshed and changed in less than a minute. Now, she was sporting a bright blue waitress uniform with white accents, white converse wedges on her feet, and her short hair was up in a tiny ponytail. That was definitely not just a loo, she thought.

"Sorry about that," said the woman, brushing herself off. "Hello, I'm Clara. This is my diner. What can I get you?"

The trio gave each other a look while the woman called Clara simply smiled at them.

"You… haven't given us a menu," said Graham.

"I know," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. She scrunched her nose; her smile was impish. " _Spooky_ , innit?" A beat. She reached inside her apron and produced three small vials. "Just tell me what meal you're in the mood for and a DNA sample. Preferably hair. Less mess."

Clara gave each of them a vial and they held it with an understandable confusion.

"Sorry—a what?" Yaz asked, raising a brow as her mouth remained open.

"Hair sample," said Clara, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "For the printer, of course."

"Right," said Graham, his lips making the expression of a pout and a frown at the same time—the universal expression of something pretending to look like they understood something they obviously didn't. He concluded, "Of course."

"We… don't have any… credits," said Yaz.

"Or money," said Ryan.

"I've got a fiver?" Graham added.

Graham held up a single green note. A photograph of Churchill was frowning at Clara—it was a sight that she hadn't seen in many, many years. She took a step back and looked at them – really looked at them – and a fondness they could not explain reached her big, brown eyes. Her smile went from mischievous to endeared.

"You lot are… a long way from home, aren't you?" she said.

"You could say that," said Ryan.

"Tell you what," said Clara. "Meal's on me… if you can tell me a story."

"What kind of story?" Graham said.

"A _good_ one," said Clara.

"You're in luck, then, 'cause we've got _loads_ of those. Ton of 'em."

"Still going to need those orders, though," she said.

"We can order anything we want?" Yaz asked.

"And in exactly the way you like, yeah," Clara replied.

"My nan's Mac 'n Cheese," Ryan spoke into the vial. "From when I was a kid."

"Son, I don't think—" Graham tried.

"Done," said Clara.

Ryan plucked a very short strand of his hair from his head and put it into the vial.

"Is that enough?"

Clara nodded and he reached to give her the vial.

"Chicken biryani," said Yaz, before Clara could ask. "Like my granddad used to make."

She did the same as Ryan and gave Clara the vial.

"And you?"

"Fried chicken with collard greens," said Graham, doing the same thing. "Grace's favourite from the store next to the Co-op."

"Be right back."

Once she'd collected all of the vials, Clara went to the back of the bar where there were apparently some stairs as they watched her descend. They heard the sound of sliding doors and when Graham peered over the bar, she was nowhere to be seen. He looked back to the kids and gestured with his hands and shoulders that he'd had no idea what just happened.

"That was weird," said Ryan, again.

"Does she _remind_ you of someone?" Yaz asked.

"D'you think she's the Doctor?" Graham asked. "Like from the _future?_ " A beat later, he amended the question. "Like _her future_ -future?"

"Nah, don't think so," said Yaz.

"She does give off a Doctor-y vibe, doesn't she?" Ryan added. "But why would she be working in a diner? The Doctor doesn't have a job."

"Maybe they know each other," she argued. "Maybe that's why we're here."

"I'm back!" said Clara, popping up from behind the bar though now, she now had a small tray that she wheeled in. She gave them the plates per their order.

"Chicken biryani for you," she said to Yaz. "Mac 'n cheese for you," she said to Ryan. "And fried chicken and collard greens, for you," said Graham.

"This is amazing," said Yaz. "Smells _just_ like my granddad used to make." From her lips came a breathy laugh of disbelief. With a fork, she took a small bite and moaned at the taste. "Tastes _just_ like it too."

Ryan looked at the meal before him and froze, lips parted. "This is impossible."

Clara smiled. "That's kind of what I do."

Graham tried the greens slowly and smiled fondly, shaking his head.

"Grace would've _loved_ this," he muttered as he went to try the chicken.

The three of them settled into their meals. Before they could ask her any more questions, she asked—

"D'you lot care for a lemonade? Spot of tea?"

"Lemonade," they all said.

"How is this possible?" Ryan asked. "Some sort of alien tech?"

"Borrowed it from Akhaten, yeah," Clara answered. "Food printer with a bit of psychometry tech. You see—every object's is imprinted with memory. So are people, or parts of people, I theorized, so I built it. The last meal you thought of, imprinted on a tiny strand of your DNA… the printer loaded it up, and there you are. Most people pick a meal that's got a lot of sentimental value; the more history it's got, more potent it is, and the flavours are more accurate. Took a few decades to get the kinks out—got _loads_ of help, but there you have it: the _only_ memory-linked food printer in the universe. I think. Figured it be handy, given this is a diner."

" _Decades?_ " said Graham. "You can't be more than 26!"

Clara snorted. " _That's_ what you picked up from all that? Bless your heart."

The way she spoke and the way that this diner looked, they all simultaneously came to the conclusion that there was more to this woman that met the eye. Of course, none of their theories actually came close to the truth. She spoke swiftly, with words coming out of her lips like they couldn't be spoken or thought of quick enough. Clara gestured with her hands in an animated fashion as if the energy could not be contained in her bones as she spoke—as if she hadn't been with company in too long.

She was smiling, bouncing around and excited, but her eyes were saddest they'd ever seen.

"Why're you doing this?" Yaz asked.

"Doing what?"

"Feeding us?" she clarified. "We just told you we haven't got any money."

"Money hasn't mattered to me for _years_ , mate," she replied.

"Are you the Doctor?" Ryan asked.

Clara's perfectly unaging, unchanging shaped brows quirked and a smirk was born on her lips.

"No," she answered plainly though by the arrangement of her features, they knew that there was more to her tale. "But I knew him once."

" _Him?_ " Graham quipped.

Just at that moment, the bell of Clara's diner rang again and a woman with blonde, bobbed hair came stumbling in, catching her breath from all the running. Her pale, grey coat swooshed about near her ankles. One of her boots' laces was close to being untied. The four of them turned their heads to look at her.

"Oh, there you are!" said the Doctor. "I _told_ you not to wander off too far! What're you doing here—oh, where are we?" Bit slow on the uptake, as they were wont to do in whatever incarnation they were in, but she looked about the room with the same splendour as the other three did before her. Though her gaze was more tinged with a kind of nostalgia than it was wonder.

"I _know_ this place; what is this? What—"

That was when her eyes fell upon the vision in bright blue, looking upon her with reverence in those big, brown eyes. If the Doctor didn't know any better, she could've sworn those were tears forming. She stopped in her tracks, frozen and speechless, and stared. Her mouth was agape while the corners twitched to a breathless smile like all the air had just been sucked out of the pulmonary tubes of her respiratory bypass system.

If Clara Oswald's human body was still governed by the laws of time and she still needed to breathe, she might have something like that too.

"Hello, Doctor," Clara greeted, her voice soft and quiet. Almost a whisper; just like a prayer. "You might not remember me…"

"'Course I remember," came the Doctor's reply, quick and without hesitation. Without fear.

" _Clara._ "

If her heart still beat, she was certain that it would have skipped just then.

"How long has it been?" she said, her voice trying to resemble its regular cadence and refraining from cracking with emotion. She coughed and swallowed it in.

"Who knows?" the Doctor replied, pocketing her hands. "Time, y'know. Wibbly wobbly, that sort of thing."

"Which one's this?" Clara asked, gesturing to her face.

"Not too far from when you saw me last, actually. Just the next one over," she said. "I'm a woman now!"

"I can see that," said Clara, grinning. "How'd you like it?"

"Oh, it's brilliant."

"I like your accent."

"Thanks. Think I got it from _you_."

"Miss the Scottish a little bit, not going to lie."

"See you've met my new friends. My _fam_ ," she tried. She scrunched her nose and shook her head. "No, still doesn't sound right."

"I _have_ met them, yeah," said Clara. "They seem nice. Clothes kind of gave it away, though. Always does. Have you not shown them the wardrobe in your TARDIS, yet?"

"Think I have," she said, eyes looking far away as she tried to recall. "She's redecorated after we blew up. I _love_ it but don't really know where all the stuff is just yet 'cause she's put in a bunch of _new_ stuff. But it should be there. I found the pool a while back!"

"There's a pool?" Graham said.

"What's going on?" Yaz asked. Ryan's mouth was full.

Clara and the Doctor looked to the other companions who'd been sitting in their seats, watching them back and forth as if they were at a tennis match, as the two women were simply standing far too far apart in the middle of the aisle.

"Oh!" said the Doctor. "Right! This is Clara," she gestured. The other woman raised a hand in a little wave. "She was my friend, too. I mean—she still is, but…"

" _Things_ happened, we can leave it at that," she said. "Now, I do a bit of solo travel."

"Solo travel? Where's Me?" the Doctor asked. "How long have you been alone?"

"How'd you end up in a diner all the way out here?" Ryan asked.

"Are you human?" Yaz asked.

" _Long_ story," Clara replied, notably ignoring the Doctor's questions. "Sorry, never actually got your names."

"Yaz."

"Ryan."

"Graham."

"Looks like you've got a good team this time around, Doctor," she told her. "Then again, you always do."

"Always thought you wouldn't recognise me if I saw you again," she said, hands in her coat's pockets, kicking shyly while still staying where she was stood. Yaz and Ryan exchanged a quick look. They'd never known the Doctor to be _shy_.

"Oh, Doctor," said Clara, walking up to her. She looked at her, eyes bright and just as big and brown and beautiful as the Doctor could remember. Her heeled white converse made it so they were pretty much the same height for once. Clara raised her hand and reached up—almost to touch her face but she hesitated and settled for her arm.

"I'd know you _anywhere_ ," she said. "Now, come on… tell me _everything_."


End file.
